The Offence
by Lolymoon
Summary: Set during the Shattered Sight curse. There's sweet and sour Outlaw Queen, Regina losing control, sword fighting, heavy dose of Regal Believer, and, of course, angst, angst and more angst. You're welcome.
1. The Queen is dead

**I couldn't wait until the new episode. This is what happened. **

**Warning for heavy angst and tragic ending.  
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It's coming.

_Onetwothree one two three steps_ – she feels it flying through the air, feels its giant wings surrounding the town, hears the distorted cry of magic pouring into this world, she can _taste_ it, even where she's buried underground in her vault.

It's coming.

Everyone and everything are ready. All the ones who should safely be kept under lock and key are confined where they can't hurt anyone, they've been warned (she thinks about the terrible wails of Ruby Lucas when she had learned what this new curse would likely do to her, about the shackles Eugenia had grimly laid out on the counter, she remembers so many blanched faces and gritted teeth and tear-stained cheeks, and she had thought, for once with more devastation than satisfaction, how the good people of the Enchanted Forest have their own dark and twisted uglies to make do with, and they are nowhere near the Evil Queen herself, but still everyone has an inner little monster peering at them through the looking-glass, and it's both a relief and a shame to be made aware of this), they've had time to prepare for the worst. At least she can give that to the Snow Queen. But what Robin would call pessimism and what she prefers to think of as common sense mixed with bad experiences tell her this is all too easy and it doesn't matter how well they've braced theirselves, that curse is not something they will prevail over. Not unscathed, at least.

_Onetwothree one two three steps._

She is nowhere ready for this.

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"_Mom, slow down just one minute, please!"_

_She doesn't even answer, they have no time for this, she's racing forward, uncaring of the mud that splashes her perfectly tailored pants with each brisk step, unminding of how she's always on the verge of falling, high-heeled ankle boots not being the best choice to go trekking through the woods. She's going so fast Henry is having trouble following her even though his legs are probably longer than hers now and the grip she has on his wrist is becoming painful and finally, he shoves her off and stops, crossing his arms and shaking his head._

"_I'm not going. I won't leave you."_

_She tries to take his hand back but he evades her arm, still staring defiantly, and finally she turns around, wild-haired and wild-eyed, and he has never seen her look so unhinged, not crazy with cruelty and malice as she was pictured in the book, but driven mad by fear. He takes a step back out of pure reflex, even though he would rather take a step forward and hold her and say that everything is going to be okay. _

_Except it's not. He can read it in her too wide, too dark eyes. She wouldn't believe a word._

"_Mom..."_

"_Henry listen to me. When this curse hit, I'm going to revert to the worst version of myself. And trust me, it doesn't look like anything you've seen of me until now, and it is more terrifying in real life than it is in the stories. I don't want you anywhere near that."_

"_But mom, I told you: the curse isn't going to turn you back into the Evil Queen, it will make you see the worst in yourself but you can beat it, because you've been facing your own darkness for months now and you've been winning and you can win against this too! I know you can, I know you."_

_She's shaking her head, refusing to listen, refusing hope and belief and everything he has to offer, she's so afraid to lose, always afraid to lose, he can't convince her she doesn't have to, he can't make her see what he sees, a hero, a very complex, wonderful hero who has been through so much and lived, and it's sad, so sad._

"_I'm afraid I can't take the risk, Henry. Now, come, we have to –"_

"_No! I..."_

"_Henry _please!_"_

_She's crouching down, knees on the ground, even though she doesn't need it anymore, and he has to bend forward slightly to be eye leveled with her, and she has never been so frantic while speaking to him, never, and the angry pleading in her voice makes his insides twist badly, and he feels a surge of hot, red shame rising to his head, because he has made the queen kneel and beg and it's so wrong._

_She clasps his hands in hers and punctuates each words with a little shake._

"_This is not the time we can win with words of hope and love. We have only one plan and we need to stick to it. So please, Henry, I beg you, just do as I say for once. You don't understand, you have no idea..."_

_She gulps a heavy breath, and lets go of his hands to cup his face, thumb running gently on his cheeks while she admits, her voice breaking and her eyes a gulf of misery:_

"_I don't want to hurt you."_

_He swallows hard, puts his hands above hers, and nods intently. She sighs, relieved, then stands up again and picks up their pace._

_He's clutching her hand so hard it's starting to hurt._

_But there's no way he's letting go. Every second counts before he has to._

_Before she disappears._

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_._

_._

It's coming.

She has made sure to be confined in her vault with no way to get out of here except for someone to unlock the door from the outside (something that will be hard to accomplish given the number of protection spells she has placed on it) and she has successfully bound her magic, and she thinks, people will be safe, people should be safe from her, if she can't get out, if she has no weapon to hurt them, but it's a delusion, it's wishful thinking, she knows, because she will always have weapons to hurt them, even without magic, _she _is the weapon. Because she's addicted to anger much more than she was ever addicted to magic; magic had always both fuelled and satisfied her anger, but had never been her purpose. And that anger, it's precisely what the curse will target and call forth. And once the beast is unleashed, once the collar is removed... – _onetwothree one two three steps_.

She stops her frenzied pacing and falls on a chair, head between her hands, nails digging into her temples, bracing for the storm.

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_He turns around as soon as she has set foot in his camp. She doesn't know if he has heard her, if it's coincidence, or the magnetic pull that draws them towards each other again and again and again, not matter the circumstances, and she doesn't care. She doesn't care for their audience either, and she's in his arms before she has the time to say his name._

"_Robin."_

"_I'm glad you're here."_

_His so tense under her fingers, shoulders straight, back hard, and she kisses him on the chin to sweeten the way he's clenching his jaw, and she remembers ("I was once, long ago, quite different"), and knows he is afraid too, and holds him tighter against her. His hand is rubbing soothing circles on her back, and he mumbles in her hair: "It's going to be all right" and tries to convince himself too._

_She pulls away, holding his hand, and smiles at Roland as the little boy comes forward, poking her lightly on the leg to have his own hello. She gently ruffles his beautiful dark curls, her brow creasing as she sees how tense and worried he looks, and she caresses his cheek in a tender gesture._

"_Hello, little one."_

"_Are you coming to hide with me?"_

_His voice is squeaky like a tiny mouse's and her heart gives a painful pang in her chest, but she holds her smile and answers as kindly as she can:_

"_No, dear, I'm afraid I can't do that. But Henry is. You remember Henry, don't you?"_

_He nods eagerly, then take a shy peep at the older boy who still impresses him a great deal, but her Henry is easy-going and caring and a wonderful human being and he picks up on Roland's unease and fear and comes to stand by his side and shoves his shoulder playfully._

"_Hi Roland. I've taken the books I told you about last time, you know, _Harry Potter_? It's a great story you'll see, you won't have time to get bored."_

_Roland beams at him and takes the hand Henry presents him, and her son walks him towards the camp fire, always minding, giving her and Robin space, but still his look is not exactly nice as he glares at Robin, and she would laugh at his protectiveness if the hour wasn't so dire. _

_Instead, she turns towards Robin, places her hands on his chest, and he covers them with his own, they gaze at each other, at a loss for words. Nothing they could say could make any of this better. There are no words strong enough to make the fear go away, no words bright enough to pierce through the darkness._

_Except, perhaps, those ones._

"_I love you."_

_Her eyes blink away, she opens her mouth, wets her lips, cringes, then looks at him with terrified, helpless eyes... he bends his head, brushes soft, tickling kisses against her eyebrows and nose, and smiles, all warmth and comfort and confidence._

"_It's all right. You don't have to answer anything you're not feeling. Yet."_

_His smile broadens, settles into a cocky grin, he's trying to make light of this moment, because he is a man who has stumbled through the darkness but who's always grasping at the light, mesmerized by its beauty, while she shies away from it, afraid of getting burn. She shakes her head, her forehead bumping against his own, her smile tender and lenient._

"_Presumptuous thief"_

"_One of my most charming traits."_

"_Please don't use that word."_

_They laugh. He succeeded. For a second, she feels light enough to fly. But still, fear has her claws sunk deep into her heart and makes her eyes water and her lips tremble and with an excruciating slowness, he glides his thumb along every tense line of her face, searching her eyes while he whispers intently:_

"_You'll get through this. You're stronger than you know."_

_She cries-laughs and helds his face between her hands._

"_I love how you never doubt me, even for a second."_

"_I never would, milady."_

_He's holding her again then, swaying them gently, kissing her lips one or two (or maybe even three, it's not like they're counting) times, breathing her in, her spicy shampoo, fruity perfume, the warm scent of her skin. Then a female voice gently breaks them apart._

"_We have to go now."_

_She turns to look at Emma, who's watching them with worry and guilt in her eyes (guilt, always guilt since she has brought Marian back), and she nods and lets go, reluctantly, her arms and heart screaming for him but her mind knowing what has to be done. She straightens herself, raises her head, but her eyes are more pleading than demanding when she says:_

"_Keep him safe."_

"_With my life, you know that."_

_They exchange a tense but trustful smile, and then Emma puts a hesitant hand on her shoulder._

"_Hey, it's okay. It will..."_

_She doesn't finish her phrase, because she might be a Charming, but hope is not tattooed on her brain nor her tongue, and she knows this particular curse is going to be a bitch. But she manages to be casual:_

"_Well. See you when it's all over, right?"_

"_Right."_

_Robin takes Roland in his arms and whispers reassuring words in his ear, tears in his eyes, and she hugs Henry, eyes closed, breathing heavily when he whimpers: "I wish I could stay with you" and then it's over, the children are going with Emma, away to hide in the forest, she's found a place. Belle has again brought them the necessary knowledge to this curse, she's read the story of the Trolden glass, only the children had been spared, the pure of heart, and the curse only ends with the death of the caster, or for the people who are brought to commit an irredeemable act, something that will leave them broken, and everyone has been looking at Regina when Belle had revealed that, they tried to hide it, but she had felt their worried gaze, and David had said: "Well, let's hope we kill that snow witch before it comes to that," and they had busied theirselves into devising a last-minute plan while she tried not to have a panick attack in front of the crowd. She's fighting against it now, while Emma is going away, her arm around Henry's shoulders, she looks odd with her flock, a clumsy shepherd dog, but they are safe, they are safe with her, Regina knows they are, and she turns to kiss Robin's lips once more, urgent, hungry, final, and vanishes before they break in each other's embrace._

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_._

It has come, harbinger of hate and pain and ugliness, reeking of death and desperation.

It has knocked on her door like the devious wolf of the tale, and all the protections are broken. Her spells were no match for the ancient magic. There's only a lock keeping her from ravaging the town now.

Her breathing is speeding, coming out fast, too fast, she's dizzy and light-headed, she can't stand the dusty smell of that vault into which she has willingly immured herself in for days now. Her hands clutch at her throat, and she waits. She waits for the transformation to occur.

Nothing happens. She feels no different.

She frowns. Could Henry have been right? Has she spent so much time fighting her own darkness that this curse is nothing new for her? (_or as she never changed, _a wicked small voice sneers gleefully, _has she always been the worst version of herself no matter how much she'd tried, that's why Robin, that's why Marian, that's why happy endings..._) She rises, goes to pick up the book, that cursed book, though it holds no answers, though she knows it by heart now, but she is compelled to, she has to look at it, the pictures passes before her eyes as she browses through the pages impatiently, _love at first sight_, what is she looking for, _I'm your fairy godmother_, what does she want, _and with a kiss of true love_, why doesn't she feel any different, _good triumphed over evil_, she's feeling sick now, sick and too hot, nausea overwhelming her, _and they lived happily, ever..._

She slams the book shut.

And screams.

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Far away above her head, the door burst open.

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It had been slow. Insidious. It had coiled inside her like a worm, pervasing her thoughts, violating her body, she had clutched at her throat and clothes and they had felt wrong on her skin, too-tight too-hot not-her (which "her"?) and soon she was in her underwear, and then she was in nothing at all, and she burst into her back room and smoothed her hand reverently over the sophisticated material of her old dresses, and then she was the Queen again the Evil Queen, all lace and leather and tight corset and heavy high-heeled boots and she was breathing, finally breathing, she had found her right skin.

And then she was out.

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She is laughing madly as she waltzes throught the streets, the sword in her hand (her father's sword, the one he has only used to polish by the fireplace, dreaming of all the fights he had been too cowardly to take part in, foolish, weak old man) slashing her way through the crowd, she doesn't stop to kill, doesn't even stop to hurt, they shy away from her, and some don't even pay her any attention, too busy yelling at their loved ones, or friends, or undeclared enemies – two fairies are rolling on the ground, clothes askew, pulling each other's hair, scraping their nails on any patch of skin they can reach, the cricket is fuming with rage while Gepetto is shoving him, one dwarf is spitting in another's face: "it's not enough that you're loafing around all day falling asleep on everyone, but you FUCKING SNORE MAN!" – and this is delightful, this is glory, all those virtuous, goody two-shoes people, turning against each other, destroying themselves, being petty, mean, awful.

It's the best day of her life.

There's only one thing that could make it better...

"You shouldn't have left your hiding place, _your majesty_. You belong to that vault, you and all your rotten family."

A devious smile appears on her face and by the time she has turned to face Snow White, it had blossomed into a full evil grin.

"How kind of you to join me, dear. I take it the jail didn't meet the standards of precious, delicate _Snow White_?"

Her eyes lowers on the sword shining by her nemesis's hip and she chuckles with delight.

"And you've even brought me a gift! What a delightful attention."

"I'll be happy to deliver it to you. Through your guts."

The Queen throws her head back and roars with laughter, then looks back at Snow, eyes gleaming with malice.

"Is that what the people's hero has become? A bloodthirsty, unyielding avenger? My, my, Snow, and I thought you were _good_."

There is only darkness in the once green-blue eyes of a girl who sang to birds and laughed with friends and beamed at her prince. A dreadful mask is on her face, curling her lips into a nasty smirk, and she draws her sword, her movement intent and precise, and points it towards the Queen.

"Maybe I'm not good. But you are far worse than I'll ever be."

"On that, dear, we agree."

They stare at each other, swords ready, postures tense. Then the Queen speaks, all false courtesy forgotten.

"I'll make you bleed before the sun set."

"Then you should start now."

A scream of rage and thrill, steel meet steel, lightening strikes, and the battle begin.

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They fight to exhaustion.

They fight to the death.

Regina is unbridled, swirling and jumping and dancing, her arm supple and unrelenting, she strikes like the snake, fast and hard and unforeseen, and Snow has one wide gash on her thigh and a nick on her cheek.

Snow is deadly. Composed and collected and scheming, she blocks and eludes and glides, she is stone and water against fire and air, she holds her ground and cuts and bruises more than once.

They're a match.

And they don't know who's going to win.

Then comes that moment that happens in all fights. Just an offbeat. A tiny hitch. A slight stumble. It doesn't matter, who's the most powerful, the most skilled, or the strongest, in the end. It's all chance, a roll of dice. Snow loses her turn, and Regina has the tip of her blade at the base of her throat in the blink of an eye, too quick for any of them to say what exactly has happened.

The Queen's smile swallows her face as she watches Snow glare defiantly at her, the girl is unable to move, completely at her mercy.

At last.

She presses forward.

"MOM!"

She stills.

Her arm has ceased its motion on its own even before her brain has registered to whom does the voice belong. Her fingers grip harder on the hilt of her sword, but she doesn't move an inch.

She listens, despite herself. Listens to that familiar, loved voice she could never refuse anything to until she had learned to harden herself against his pleas and tantrums, she listens because another voice, the voice of a woman inside who's rattling the bars of her cage, tells her to.

"Mom, this isn't you anymore. Deep down, you know that. You do."

"You always come at the worst possible moments, don't you my boy?"

She has never spoken to him like that, all bites and venom but he doesn't flinch, doesn't step back, he comes closer, slowly, very slowly, but stubbornly, not giving up, never giving up.

"Mom, you don't endure curses. You cast them. You can fight this. I know you can. Please try."

"Why? This is all I've ever wanted. My happy ending. Snow White's head rolling at my feet. Her blood on my blade. Why would I ever want to fight this?"

"Because it's not what you really want! Snow White is not your enemy anymore. You don't want her dead. You've protected her and her family and you've been through so much together. You've changed, mom, please, remember!"

"Right. I'm a hero, now, aren't I? That's what you've decided. Because you're the one who gets to decide who's good and who isn't, who's worthy of your love and who's not."

He stops walking. She... looks ugly. That's never a word he has associated with his mother, but she does, she looks ugly and crazy and terribly frightening, and he knows her words are going to hurt, but he listens to them anyway, because there's a tiny part of truth, because that's what the curse does, it distorts truth but it also reveals it, and if he wants to help her, he has to know what's going through her mind, but she has never been mean to him, it's hard, it's so hard to let her, but she isn't going to stop now, the gates are open.

"_You _get to decide when I am good enough to be your mother and I have no say in it, have I? You like me well enough for now, but wait until I make a mistake, a tiny little mistake, and you'll be running back to that idiotic Savior in no time. And then I'll be the villain. Again, and forever."

Are there tears in her voice? Tears are good. Tears mean her heart is aching somewhere underneath all that rage, tears mean there's love, and love will save her.

"No, I won't. You'll always be my mom, even when I'm angry at you or when I think I don't need you or don't want to see you but it's not true, because I'll always need you, and I'll always love you. All of you. I'm grown-up enough to know that now."

He sees a slight tremor in her arm, and takes another step forward.

"And killing grandma is _not _a small mistake. It's a huge one. One you're going to regret so much when you're yourself again. And you're going to hate yourself for it, just like you hate yourself for all you did wrong when you were the Evil Queen. But it's in your past now. You don't kill anymore. And you don't hate Snow White. Your happy ending is not murder. It's love."

She sneers violently but doesn't turn her head, refusing to look into his pleading eyes, her owns still fixed on Snow's face, calling forth all the anger that sight used to bring her.

Used to?

He's close enough to touch her now, but he doesn't dare. In a way, it's like taming a stray dog, a wild cat, one wrong move and it's over, the link is broken, the timid trust is gone. He speaks more softly now, sniffling a bit as he holds back tears.

"Please, mom. I love you."

"Stop saying that... word."

"I love you."

"Stop it!"

Her whole body is shaking now, and he's afraid she's going to rip Snow's throat by accident, but her blade is slightly pulled back, her eyes blinking.

He bends forward, and drops a kiss on her cheek, pulling back quickly.

"I love you. I'll always love you mom."

Her eyes close and he hears a sob.

Then, she lowers her sword.

Her head sways gently and suddenly, she is looking at him, and the clouds are gone from her eyes, the light shines brightly, little drops of gold in the chocolate orbs, and just looking at her face warms him like the sun. This is Mom. She came back to him. She won.

Henry beams, and springs forward to hug her.

And then stops.

Looking with horror and incredulity at the blade sunk deep into the belly of his mother.

And she's looking at Snow with the same awful surprise, softened with deep sadness and guilt, and Snow blinks, blinks and stares stupidly at her hand still on the hilt, like she can't quite understand what she just did.

Then Regina chokes and stumbles back, falling towards the ground.

"NO!"

His scream has torn his throat apart and the tears are already spilling fast and he jumps, but not fast enough, she has almost hit the floor, eyes half-closed, when strong arms catch her at the last minute and lower her gently on the road, a musky, pine-scented smell enfold her, and she smiles through the white, hot pain burning in her middle.

Robin. Robin has caught her. Nobody has seen him coming. She tries to speak but chokes again, it seems the hit has temporarily closed her lungs, and she fumbles with the sword, tries to take it off, but his hands wrap over her owns and hold them still while he speaks, low and calm and firm:

"Don't you dare remove that blade or you'll bleed to death."

She wants to laugh because with a sword through her gut it doesn't really matter anyway but her son is crouching down beside them and she feels now is hardly the time for dark humor. He is crying so much, her poor baby, her sweet little prince, he looks like he's eight, or maybe four, like there is thunder and it's too loud, like he's had a nightmare and he's so afraid, like he broke his ankle at the gym and _it hurts, mommy, it hurts _and she just wants to take him in her arms and whispers sweet, wonderful nonsense to his ear, and stroke his hair, and kiss his cheek, and singsongs _mommy's here, my little boy, I'm here, don't cry, my sweet, don't cry _and Snow is here too, slumped on the ground at her feet, sobbing helplessly, wailing, _what have I done, oh gods what have I done, Regina! _and she has always been so ugly when she cried, her ugly little girl, she's hers also, not like Henry, not a daughter exactly but still, she's family, even if she had stabbed her to death, she's family, and Regina wants to take them both in her arms because she can't stand their crying, but her arms are so heavy, her eyes are so sleepy...

"Regina, Regina, stay awake, open your eyes, you hear me? Stay with me!"

Robin is shaking her, so gently, afraid she'll break, his fingers are waving through her hair, soothing, his lips brushing her forehead, and she looks up at him, blue, blue eyes, they're blending with the sky above her head, she moves her lips, manages to croak out: "Henry... take him... away" but her boy grips her hand immediately, furiously shaking his head.

"Like hell I'm going! I'll stay right here, I'm not leaving you again!"

"Henry... language..."

He swears again and laughs and scowls because this is so much like her, caring about the way he speaks when she's at death's door, and she smiles and finally raises a trembling arm, her fingers grazing his chin, and he catches her wrist and buries his cheek in her hand and cries openly, and Robin's arms tighten around her.

It's still chaos everywhere, but someone shouts, loud and clear:

"The Evil Queen's dead!"

Some hurrays follow this exclamation, but mostly it's still injurious words and sounds of slapping and punching and on the whole, everyone is too preoccupied with their own mess to rejoice together over the demise of their greatest enemy. She's glad. She fears Henry is going to be sick, and Snow is going to faint, if they hear a cry of victory again.

And then, while Snow stammers that she needs to go the the hospital, and Robin replies angrily that they would likely finish her off there, a golden blast of air flies over the town, and the curse is broken.

Then it's silence.

And the same voice, unsure and worried:

"Regina's dead?"

She finally recognizes the voice. That blasted dwarf. The biggest crier of the town. He sures sounds quiet now. But others are not, and then they're calling for love ones and apologies are spilling everywhere and sobs echo all around and there is one or two _Regina!_ thrown into it (maybe one of them is Tinkerbell, she thinks), but she's too tired to listen much anymore and focuses on the three people at her death bed which is nothing but a dirty street. A dirty street for a tainted woman. It's fitting.

But it's all right. For a long time, she had thought she would die alone. Unloved. Slayed like a dog, or sacrifying herself for redemption. But she has a family surrounding her. She has a son holding her hand, a lover (soul mate) kissing her brow, and a step-daughter who should have been a sister who sometimes act like a mother pleading with her to stay alive, and surely, there are worst ways to die. She's not ready to go, but she's not fighting as much as she should, because there's always this depressed, hopeless part of her who's drawn towards nothingness and eternal rest and since she doesn't know how to lay down her arms and stops butting heads she's almost grateful when someone else stops the fight for her.

As the blood is dripping and the pain is numbing and the blackness spreads before her eyes, she is tumbling down, further down into dark thoughts, woeful memories, twisted yearnings, and there is a soft, melodious, oh so entrancing voice whispering to her ear to just let go, for once, to just give up, why can't she ever give up, but Robin seems to know what's whirling through her mind, he always knows and he speaks to her until his voice is hoarse, holds her hands until his knuckles are white, and she has to say it now, she needs to tell him, before it's too late, before cowardness returns (she's never been a coward, except in this) and she tries to put her hand on his mouth, he catches it, kisses it before she can, and while he finally shuts up she can breathe in a voice strangled by blood:

"Robin, I have something... to tell you."

"Don't try to speak, my love, just save your strength, help is on the way, it's over, it's all over, you're going to be fine..."

"If I don't... speak now, you might never hear me again."

He sobs, he truly is sobbing for her and this is amazing and awful and overwhelming and for once she's not the one to cry over a lifeless body and it could almost be a nice change if it didn't hurt so much the people she loves. She grasps blindly at the collar of his shirt and tugs him closer.

"Come here you foolish thief and let me tell you the rest..."

He bends forward, almost covering her completely, and she tells him, the three words she had not dared to say, she had been ready for it, she was waiting for the right moment, but she had always had a terrible timing, and if now is the last moment then she doesn't have a choice, because she can leave him not knowing, not knowing everything he has been for her, not knowing...

"I know," he whispers fervently against her lips, "I know," and her smile is so wide.

"They should be here any minute now," sobs Snow, her cell phone pressed against her chest, looking in turns behind her, compelling the ambulance to come faster with her mind, and then back at Regina as if she feared not looking at her for one second would give her time enough for her to disappear.

Regina tries to nod, and wants to say it's all right, not to blame herself for something she could have done, she _would_ have done not a few years ago, but she can neither move nor speak anymore, and she puts her last strength into a smile for her son and he is _furious_, furious and so heartbroken, he tells her she can't leave, she has no right, he will hate her if she does, he hasn't even learned to drive yet, he hasn't graduated, she needs to be here for that, she needs to be here for when he will get drunk and she has to get mad at him for being so irresponsible, she needs to be here to tease him and be obnoxious the first time he brings a girl home, and she needs to be here for his next birthday because she missed the last one, and she just needs to be here, forever, mom, please?

She wants to say yes, she wants to rise and take him in her arms and say of course I'll be here forever, but she is pinned to the ground by the sword in her stomach, the cold is everywhere and she can't even feel Robin's arms, she gulps and gargles and a trickle of blood runs down her chin, her cheek, this is the last smell she will carry with her, not the deep scent of forest, not the sweet scent of soap and cocoa, blood, only blood, but at least she doesn't see any red, she mouthes "my... little... prince" and then her head rolls back, she sees sky-blue eyes and falls into them and finally, finally, she can close her eyes, and she can rest.

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**Sorry?**


	2. Snow

**So you see, your tears have coerced me into continuing this little story.**

**There will be four more chapters, three dealing with Snow, Henry and Robin's point of view, and the last one, well, it's a surprise.**

**An absolute thanks for all your wonderful reviews, and I hope you'll enjoy the rest, make sure to let me know what works and what doesn't, what you'll like to see in the next chapter, etc, I do love to have suggestions from my readers!**

**Without further ado, I give you Snow's reaction.**

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She's gone.

She can't be gone.

The cell phone that was still tightly clasped in her fist crashes on the ground, and Snow opens her mouth in a shocked and disbelieving gasp, her tears an endless stream spilling as steadily as the blood flows from Regina's wound (it appears keeping the sword in isn't of much use, after all).

Henry is calling his mother's name, over and over again, and Robin is a statue, Regina's hands looking frail and tiny in his iron grip. Her whole body is seemingly shrunken by death, and it shocks Snow, it horrifies her, how such a powerful woman can look so dismissible, how quickly all her might and strength can be reduced to nothing. How she seems to vanish before her eyes. Because of one sword. Of one mistake. This woman, torture and armies and fiendish creatures and heartbreaks have not been able to defeat her, and all it takes is nothing more than a bit of steel, and it's over.

Her greatest enemy and closest family is gone.

She breaks into ugly and helpless sobs as she realizes this is the last person linked with her childhood. The last person who has known her as a child, who has seen her grow up, helped her, albeit reluctantly or indirectly, make someone of herself, the last person with which she could speak about their past. Because it was shared.

It's not only Regina who's dead.  
>It's a whole world.<br>Her whole world.

"I came as fast as I could, what... Oh God..."

Snow raises her head to meet her daughter's horrified eyes fixed on Regina's body, and Henry's quaking form. It takes her quite a while to take note of her daughter's appearance, the way she's covered in grime and gore, her fast breathing and dilated pupils, shivering, but the hand holding her gun doesn't shake.

"What happened," Snow asks slowly with a distraught air, her mind failing to register everything about the situation, and Emma answers straight away, her voice hard: "The Snow Queen is dead."

"It was an ugly fight," adds a soft voice behind them, and Elsa's here too, her sad, sad eyes taking in the fallen queen, her arms wound up around her middle.

"But she won't be a problem for anyone ever again. And the curse is broken now. Mom, is she..."

Painfully, closing her eyes and clenching her fists, Snow nods.

"No!"

Henry has yelled.

"No she's not dead! Ma, you can save her!"

"Henry..."

Emma crouches down beside him and puts her hand on his shoulder, but he evades her.

"No! I know what you're going to say, and you're wrong! She's alive, I know she is!"

"Henry, it's too late..."

"She has a pulse," interjects Robin quietly, his fingers on her wrist, he's avoiding everyone's eyes, and there is something frightening in the clenching of his jaw, in the way he's gritting his teeth, like he's about to explode or collapse, but he's right, thinks Snow with a blossoming hope in her heart, he's right, her eyelids are fluttering, she's still alive, she...

"The ambulance should be here any minute now..."

"It won't be fast enough! Ma!"

Henry is looking at Emma with that determined look that allows no refusal, the one he'd given her right from the beginning, when she refused to go with him to that Storybrooke place, _you have to save all the happy endings_, and it was crazy and it made no sense but she did it, and she saved the town in the end, and it wouldn't be the first time his intuitions are right, but magic, that's a whole other story, one that still doesn't feel like hers entirely and she isn't sure if she can do what his eyes are begging her to do.

"Henry, even if I'm able to control my magic, it doesn't mean this will work, I know nothing about healing people, I haven't learned..."

"If Mom has been able to use light magic for the first time and defeat Zelena then you can do it to. I know you can! Please!"

"Please try."

Robin is finally meeting Emma's eyes, and her insides twist when she sees the fiery darkness burning in his gaze.

She clears her throat, still can't get a word out of her mouth, and finally nod. Robin doesn't waste any time. He grabs the handle of the sword with both hands, and pulls it out of Regina in one swift motion, the steel clattering loudly on the street as he drops it right away. They all look at Regina to see if the action has awakened her, but she's still motionless and deathly pale. Emma turns her head towards her mother, and Snow immediately takes her hand when she sees the worry and uncertainty in her eyes.

"It's okay, Emma. We're here with you. I'm with you. Just do it."

Her daughter takes a deep breath, and then, slowly, raises her hands above Regina's wound.

.

.

_They did it._  
><em>They saved Henry.<em>  
><em>And they're going back home.<em>

_Snow still can't realize that it's over. That they are getting the hell away from Neverland, that this completely insane week will be but a bad memory haunting their dreams for the rest of their lives._  
><em>And above all she cannot believe Regina – Regina, the woman who tried to destroy the whole town a few days ago, Regina who only wishes for two things in the world: Henry's happiness and Snow's demise – has saved the day.<em>

_She's watching her talking (and smiling) with Tinkerbell, and she's frowning, an instinctive gesture of distrust, but she can't help the streak of admiration that seizes her as she catches a glimpse of_ her _– that woman on the horse, that brave, strong, bright, heroic rider who's saved her life._  
><em>She feels like a litte girl again, with a little girl's wish.<em>  
><em>She sighs, as she knows one part of her will always be stupid that way where Regina is concerned.<em>

_Not three hours later, most of the passengers are asleep (snores, some soft and others not at all, rise all around), with the exception, of course, of the queen herself, who never seems to get more than three hours of sleep each night (and not for the first time, Snow wonders how she can still stand, after torture and almost dying and endless chasing and constant worrying), and Snow, who just woken up to get something to drink, decides against all common sense that now is as good a time as any to have a chat with her former step-mother._

_Of course, when she opens her mouth and Regina turns around with an icy look even before she has uttered a single word, she figures out it was a very stupid thing to do, but too late._

_She had hoped Regina had been mollified enough by Henry being safe and them being on their way to Storybrooke._

_But even relatively appeased Regina remains as tense as a lioness who's been stepped on the tail._

_"Before you start happily babbling away, Snow, please be sure that you have thought carefully about what you're going to say."_

_"Any reason why I shoud be so cautious?"_

_"Because I have a limited amount of patience for stupidity and unfortunately the rest of our lovely team of rescuers has already worn it out."_

_Snow gives her a disbelieving look and sighs, leaning on the rail of the boat._

_"Fine."_

_Regina raises an impressed eyebrow._

_"That's it? You're not going to be your annoying persistent self tonight?"_

_"No. You're not the only one who's tired."_

_There is a long pause, Regina shifting her feet noiselessly, until she finally leans on the rail too, next to Snow without being actually close, gazing at the deep black sea full of stars._  
><em>It doesn't take long for Snow to remember the last time they've been side by side on this particular place and she gives a half-smile as she says quietly:<em>

_"You have a mean right hook, you know that? Who would have thought a queen knew how to use her hands?"_

_"Who would have thought a princess who carries birds in her hand could catfight?"_

_"I tried to kill one once, you know."_

_"Kill what? A bird? You!"_

_"To be fair, I was cursed."_

_"...If I had known curses were so common, perhaps I would have searched for a more original punishment."_

_Snow's eyes become somber when she mentions the curse, and the silence is heavy for a while, Regina tracing abstract patterns on the wood, Snow biting her lips, until she finally asks something that has been worrying her all afternoon, and perhaps is what has pushed her to speak to Regina tonight._

_"You really don't regret anything you've done?"_

_"What are you talking about?"_

_"What you said. When we were tied up to that tree."_

_Regina doesn't even hesitate to give her answer and Snow feels a blinding fury builds up in her._

_"No, I don't."_

_"So you don't feel bad about a single thing you've done. Not one thing?"_

_Regina lets out a dry laugh._

_"Again, you only ever hear what you want to hear, don't you Snow?"_

_"But you just said..."_

_"I know what I said. And I know what I feel. And it's none of your business."_

_She's almost tempted to break it here. To go back to her cabin with Charming, to forget about this conversation and this woman who will never be redeemed. But she stays. She stays because she hopes, somehow, she's wrong. And when Regina speaks again, she begins to understand._

_"You think, because I wouldn't go back and change anything, that I'm okay with everything I've done? That none of it is haunting me, that I don't feel..."_

_"Remorse?"_

_The laughter Regina indulges in is almost a bark._

_"Monsters don't feel remorse."_

_"You're not a monster, Regina, even I know that."_

_"But I'm still a villain."_

_She doesn't answer this time, not because she agrees, because she doesn't, because words like "good" and "evil" and "hero" and "villain" are starting to get blurry and to lose their meaning and just to not be enough to define someone, but at the same time she can't argue against that exactly, she can't say it's a lie, and Regina really should be accounted for her crimes._

_Snow is still coping with the massive shift her moral system has endured for the past few days when Regina speaks in a very soft voice:_

_"I'm just glad... I'm glad I did something right. For once."_

_"That you did. You saved your son."_

_She sees the way Regina's hand immediately presses against her belly, and how her mouth parts in mild surprise, and she wonders why such reaction until she thinks_ your son _and smiles, sympathetic._

_"I'm glad I... we... have won."_

_"Me too."_

_She can't help but to glance back in the direction where the cabin she is sharing with Charming and Emma is, and Regina catches that look and smirk._

_"You've even managed to save your precious Prince Charming."_

_She grins back and shrugs._

_"Well, he's not completely saved yet but he will be."_

_"Good for you."_

_Her eyebrows shot up high in surprise, and she opens her mouth to ask Regina if she really meant that, but quickly changes her mind._ Think carefully about what you're going to say. _She shakes her head, amused. Even if she's no longer in charge of her education, Regina still makes quite the impression on her..._

_"What do you feel the most remorseful for?"_

_"Ugh, are we going back to that again?"_

_"Surely you must feel guilty about something at least."_

_"I don't want to dwell on the past."_

_Snow snorts loudly and Regina wrinkles her nose in protestation at the disgraceful noise._

_"I'm sorry but coming from you that's... hilarious."_

_"What can I say? I'm a funny woman."_

_And then Snow looks at her._

_Really looks at her._

_And she thinks that, indeed, Regina Mills is a funny woman. A strange woman. An infuriating, frustrating, shocking, formidable, despicable, admirable woman. And she might not possess all the pieces of the puzzle yet, she might not have figured out everything, and acceptance is unlikely and forgiveness still out of the equation, but that flash of understanding, she holds on to that, and when the next day they are finally landing on Storybrooke's waters and being warmly welcomed by the crowd, Snow can turn towards Regina with a pensive look, and she can say:_ Regina helped save us all, _and actually feel grateful._

.

.

Snow watches the steady pulse of light magic spilling forth from her daughter's fingers.

And she holds on to hope.

Because she desperately wants to hear Regina's voice mocking her for it once again.

Because she would give anything, anything for one more sneer, one more exasperated look, and above all, one more smile.

She lets her hands hover above Regina's legs, desperate for a touch, but feeling unworthy of it.

She's the one who did this.

But this is not the end.

And when Regina wakes up, she will fix this. Fix them.

_She can't be gone._

_._

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><p><em>.<em>

**_Still enjoying this? I hope so. Don't forget to leave a review!_**


	3. Henry

**THANK YOU, I mean it, thank you for your wonderful response to this story and your interest, I sincerely thank every reviewer, follower, reader, you have no idea how happy it makes me that people like what I write! Yes, I'm writing emotional stuff so I'm allowed to be emotional. **

**A shorter one this time, but because Robin's POV will be longer.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p>.<p>

She's not gone.

She's not gone.

Not Mom. She wouldn't leave him. She would never leave him.

It's not delusion. It's not wishful thinking. It's not the silly hope of a little boy too afraid to face the truth.

It's a certainty.

A belief.

A fact.

She would never leave him and not even Death can force her to.

He's not just praying for it to be true. He _knows _it. Deep in his brave heart full of the brightest faith in her.

This is Mom, and she will come back to him.

He's holding tight to her limp hand as Emma is pouring white, blazing light magic inside his mother's body, and he has a hand on her shoulder, because he knows he doesn't have magic and he can't help but it's like with fairy dust and flying, if you believe hard enough then anything becomes possible, so he closes his eyes and believes, he pictures his mother blinking awake, Emma beaming, looking at her own hands with amazement, whispering "I did it!" while grandma is laughing and sobbing and throws herself forward to hug Regina, but Robin stops her at the last minute with a deep chuckle full of wonder and relief, and then he's stroking his mother's cheeks, tenderly, lovingly, and finally she cracks an eye open, her face scrunchy like the times when he was little and jumped on her bed to wake her up way before her usual hour and she always looked cranky as hell for a minute before she realized it was him and gave him the warmest, most tired smile ever ("_Henry, what did I tell you about mama's beauty sleep?"_), and she sees everyone one surrounding her, looking at her with teary eyes and grateful smiles, and she makes one of her usual jibe, then turns her head, _sees him, _and beckons him to her with a heavy arm : _"My litte prince..."_

Henry opens his eyes.

His mother is not awake.

Emma is clenching her fist, biting her lips, looking both exhausted and frustrated.

The blood is gone. Remains only an ugly, throbbing scar on his mother's abdomen, her stomach now bare for all to see, the sword has ruined most of the corset.

He's almost smiling, ready to shout with joy, because that's it, she's healed, Emma did it, Mom's saved – and then he notices Emma's pale face, Snow's now silent tears, Robin's empty eyes, and he wants to shake them and slap them and make them react, anything but this silent resignation, and his mother is still, so still but she's healed now, she will wake up, and he takes her by the shoulders and jostle her, shouting: "Mom. Mom, wake up. Mom!"

He feels sick, so sick, _it's his fault, _he had distracted her, _it's his fault, _what if she's dead and she's wasn't sure he loved her, because he hasn't said it enough, because of all the bad blood that had spilled between them and the mean and stupid words and he wants to say that it doesn't matter, that none of it matters anymore, he has forgiven her (but does she forgive _him?_), but what if she's dead and she doesn't know how important she is, how much she means to him, what a good and wonderful person she has become, and what a wonderful mother she is? He feels sick, and then angry, terribly angry, she has no right to leave him, she has no right to give up, she promised, she promised she would always be here, she promised with her words and her eyes and her smile, with the way she straightened his hair casually and stroked his cheek lovingly, with the way she fusses her frets over him, with the way she worries and she way she scolds, with how she praises him and comforts him, she promised, and, like all parents do, she lied, because no matter how powerful a mother is, no matter how hard she tries to hold on to her promises, she just can't promise to stay alive forever.

And this lie is worse than any lie she has ever told him, because none has hurt so much as this broken promise to remain by his side.

He's crying as he shakes her again, so violently Robin grabs his wrist and tells him to stop, and he looks so dangerous and so pissed he would feel fear if he had any place for it, but instead he snatches his hand away and yells: "You don't tell me what to do, she was unhappy because of YOU" and then he fights and claws and bites as Emma wraps her arms around him and tries to tear him away from his mother's body, and he grunts, "Let me go! Get off!" but she passes him to Snow who holds on to him tightly, holding herself together as much as she's holding him, and he keeps on struggling, he doesn't want to be near her (she killed Mom), he doesn't want her to touch him (she killed his mother's mom and now she killed Mom), until he hears Ma say to Robin: "I'm going to try and resuscitate her, but I'll need your help"

Henry becomes absolutely still, and watches intently as the two adults begin bustling around his breathless mother, and Henry believes in a lot of things, fairies and true love and magic and parallel worlds, because he knows they are real, but he doesn't believe in God, and yet he finds himself praying, as he has never prayed before, _please be all right, please let her live, please please please._

Don't you dare be dead.

.

.

.

"__Mom, mom, look! It's snowing! It's snowing!"__

_He's four. He's jumping up and down excitingly, his little arm waving as he tries to show her the translucent snowflakes floating lazily in the wind, landing on the grass of their garden. She scowls a little and tells him to get down from that chair before he falls and hurts himself, but he pouts, and pleads "mom, look, look," so she comes closer, rolling her eyes, and then swoops on him, her arms extended like wings, and covers his face with sloppy kisses and blows in his neck until he squirms and laughs and laughs and whines "mom, but you're not looking!" and she sweeps him in her arms and nestles him on her hip, finally looking through the window with an amused smile._

"_What is there to see?"_

"_The snow!" Henry yells, both thrilled and exasperated, and she chuckles and nuzzles his cheek with her nose, shaking her head with a fond indulgence when she sees what Henry is talking about._

"_Henry, it's the middle of summer. Those are not snowflakes, it's more like pollen, it comes from the trees, the cottonwood trees of the sidewalk, you know, the ones I told you not to climb."_

"_No it's snowing mom I know! Look down, the garden's all white! Can we build a snowman?"_

"_No Henry, it really isn't…"_

_He's beaming at her, his eyes brightest than the purest snow, than the warmest sunshine, but the corners of his mouth are falling, catching up with her words, wondering if he's mistaken, worried his beautiful dream of snowmen and sledge and snowballs fights is going to break, and she just doesn't have the heart, so she hums merrily and offers him her sweetest smile._

"_Well you're part right Henry. Because those aren't regular snowflakes. Those are _summer _snowflakes."_

"_Summer snow…" her little boy whispers reverently, a rapturous look on his face, and Regina is happy, happy, so happy, and they spend the afternoon chasing each other in the summer snow, and if she's sneezing like hell all evening afterwards, it's all worth it, because her son falls asleep with a peaceful and content smile._

_._

_. _

_It becomes something just for the two of them. Summer snow. And everybody plays along, all the adults, even Granny oohhs and aahhs one day as he shows her the cotton snowflakes, and she dares wink at Regina, who sniffles disdainfully but can't help the tiny smirk tugging at her lips. Then one day – he's eight – he comes home from school, lips drawn tight, moody eyes and defiant chin, and it's been like this for several weeks now, ever since he's learned that she didn't give birth to him, that she's not – not _his real mother _the words still hurt like a bitch – but this time there are dry tears on his cheeks and she wants to wipe them away, she makes a move for it before she can stop herself, even though she had tried so hard to respect his wish to not be touched, to be left alone, and he slaps her hand away before she can even brush his skin. _

_She's so mad she grips his wrist and shakes him._

"_Henry! This is not how we treat people in this house. It's very wrong to hit someone, even if you're angry at them."_

"_Well it's wrong to lie and you still do it!"_

_She sighs, runs a heavy hand on her tired face, and tries to smooth the tense lines, the disapproving look, tries to be the kind mother she was before all this began, and not the remote disciplinarian._

"_Henry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have let you find out like this, I know I should have told you, but it wasn't a lie, I was just waiting for…"_

"_It's not about that! You lie all the time! For everything! And they made fun of me at school because of you!"_

_She frowns and crouches down in front of him, trying her best not to mind him stepping back._

"_What do you mean, what happened?"_

"_I told them about the summer snow and they said it was a story for children, that it's stupid and that's not true. Why would you tell me that if it's not true?"_

_Her eyes are glossy and her voice breaks just a little when she answers in a short breath:_

"_I just… wanted you to be happy."_

"_Well I'm not! I'm not happy, not with you!"_

_And he runs past her and takes the stairs two by two and pretends he doesn't hear the ugly sob behind him, he wants to go right back and jumps into her arms and apologize but he's proud, and hurt, and eight, and so confused about his life, and they never talk about summer snow again._

_._

_._

_Years later, he's in New York, a teenage boy now living a different life with a different mother, but for all he knows it's the only life he has ever lived and the only mother he has ever loved. He's leaning casually on the railing of their balcony, watching the soft, feathery fluffs drifting above the rooftops, Emma is slouched on the sunbed behind him, messily taking notes about her last case, and before he knows it he's muttering aloud:_

"_Summer snow."_

_Emma raises her head from her work, frowning lightly._

"_What's that, kid?"_

_Henry tilts his head, his eyes still gazing faraway._

"_Those things that fall from the trees. It looks like summer snow, don't you think?"_

_Emma laughs._

"_Where does that come from?"_

_He shrugs casually, but bites his lips, feeling oddly self-conscious about it._

"_I must have heard it from someone."_

_Emma shakes her head, smiling fondly._

"_I swear kid, you get in with the weirdest people."_

_He tries a laugh but it quickly dies out. Emma goes back to her work, thinking nothing of it, and he's glad. Because he can't explain the painful knot in his stomach at the sight, and he doesn't want her to notice. And he doesn't know either why a deep, rich, throaty laugh is echoing in his ears as the sunlight catches in the strange summer snowflakes._

_._

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**_Don't forget to review, dearies, you know how much I enjoy your reactions by now!_**


	4. Robin

**Sorry, I had meant to publish this sooner but I've had a crazy week with my exams... and this one has been quite hard to write, for some reason. But I do hope it's still enjoyable!**

**Again, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you, readers, reviewers, followers, those who favorited, those who are lurking over those pages, I am enthralled by the positive reception this story has had.**

**Thank you.**

**Now, Robin's chapter. WARNING for very brief and totally non graphic mention of rape, and a bit of Missing Year action between our two lovebirds.**

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><p>.<p>

She's gone.

It's over.

This is the second time he loses his true love.

Why is the pain so deep and the sorrow so unforgiving?

Why does it feel like he's living through the worst moment of his life?

Why is this all so new and so much worse than before?

It doesn't matter in what time, in which world.

You never get used to death.

.

The sad thing is, he doesn't even deserve to feel grief.

Not when he could have been the killer.

This is why he had come in the first place. To kill the Evil Queen.

No.

To kill the woman who set his heart and loins on fire, who overran his head like the most beautiful disease, the woman who made easy impossible and virtue a sin and right a wrong. The woman for whom he had forsaken vows and wife, code and past, whose wicked love would have dragged him down in hell with her.

How that curse had twisted everything!

To think it had made him see her as an endless night and a dreadful plight, when her mouth is a spring of light, her eyes a shelter for thunders and doves, when her heat is the sweetest place on earth, when her body give him life, when her smile outshines a thousand sunsets and a thousand sunrises, and makes the stars look pale and green with envy.

To think his arrow could have pierced her valiant heart.

To think he could have smothered her light.

There is no ground in the darkness. No resting place.

The fall is ever-lasting. One can never hope to hit rock bottom – you can only catch a branch in midair, and wait for a kind soul to pass and show you where a higher one is, or grope around in the dark by yourself, hoping you'll find that next step that will lead you closer to the sun.

Since he has nocked his arrow and aimed for her heart (black, burnt, stained, worm-filled heart, he had thought, enraged), since he had envisioned the blood ruining her filthy rich clothes and the terrible sounds of her death throes, ever since he had killed her in his mind, and now is seeing her die, he hasn't stopped falling.

Henry tears his hand away and shouts at him, his young face contorted with fury – _she was unhappy because of YOU! –_ and he wants to slap the little brat, his rage coils and festers inside him, its putrid smell filling his nostrils (he hopes it's only a remainder of the curse, he hopes those dark thoughts are not exactly his but belong to the cruelest part of him, put if it's a part of him then it's him, a nagging voice tells him, and he can't escape that by laying responsibility on a spell), but he controls himself, he stays calm, because Henry's only a child, he's Regina's son, he's entitled to his pain and his grief and his anger (and the boy is right, so right and it's killing him, the thought that he has made her unhappy, that he has been a source of tears, that he had done what he promised himself he would never do when she had looked at him with that blossoming, tearful smile, whispering wonderingly _"I just never thought I'd have this..."_). He barely hears Emma say to him "I'm going to try and resuscitate her, but I'll need your help," he simply nods, absent-minded, yes, anything, nothing, everything, words float all around him and he lets them go, sees them flying away in a daze, they hold no meaning anymore, not if she is...

A hand is shaking him and he meets fierce and wilful green eyes, eyes forbidding him to let go because if Regina can be strong and beat this thing (beat Death), then so fucking can he (has she actually say that out loud, or is it him reading too much in Emma's eyes?).

"She needs CPR. Robin, can you help me?"

His hands are clutching Regina's hair in a painful grip and his eyes are frantic, unfocused, but his voice is steady and determined when he finally answers:

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just tilt her head back... yeah like that. And when I tell you to, you pinch her nose and breathe into her mouth, all right?"

"Understood."

Emma starts to make compressions on Regina's chest and it must be terribly painful with the ugly wound on her abdomen but why would she care, she doesn't feel anything now, even the pain doesn't wake her up. Robin's fingers begin to shake, but he can't let himself fall apart, not when he has a chance to save her, and when Emma tells him to go he is ready, and breathes into her mouth.

He nearly chokes at the contact of her full, fleshy lips, even though they are dry and caked with blood, and he hopes this is not the last time he gets to touch her mouth, he thinks of all the times he has kissed her senseless in that vault, until she was panting and moaning and laughing ("_Robin, I can't breathe!"_) and he prays please, please don't let this be the last time, because it's not even a kiss and it reeks of goodbye and death and rotten sunflowers.

.

.

.

_There's been an attack at the palace today. It had taken them all by surprise, coming from the inside at the break of dawn, when everyone was fast asleep. Almost everyone, thankfully. His merry men and him had never been long sleepers (with the exception of Friar Tuck, but it was mostly when the wine had gotten the better of him) and they were up and about when the soldiers had pounced on them. Allan had made a run for it and successful escaped to warn the rest of the castle, while Robin and his men had fought with knives, arrows, plates, even a pan at some point (looking ridiculous in Little John's huge hand) and it was a wonder no one had been seriously hurt until Prince Charming had stormed in, sword raised and surrounded by a dozen guards. It had been a fight to the death – the enemy's death, luckily. One of the surviving soldier had been incapacitated and taken for questioning – sadly, he hadn't survived through _that _had smirked Regina, the Queen, in an entirely non-apologetic manner. Snow had to intervene to reassure everyone, while glaring at her former nemesis that no, they hadn't actually tortured him to death so he would talk, and the queen had huffed indignantly as if she couldn't get why they had to exercise so much restraint. _

_But he knows it was an act._

_Most of the times it all comes down to an act with her._

_He's beginning to know her well._

_And she's getting quite the insight on him too._

_He hasn't been too concerned with what had happened next. All that matters is that his child is all right and the castle a safe place again. _

_And that he can be left alone in peace to wash the blood off his hands._

_He has killed two men today. Two more men to add to the list that is already longer than it should be, than it as ever right to be. Longer than he wishes to think about._

_It doesn't come as a surprise that the nightmares return to him that night._

_He's thrashing and writhing in his sheets as images – memories, alas, and not harmless figments of his imagination – overrun his mind, and he revives all of it, he is not spared one gruesome detail, nor his first kill, nor his first torture, nor the time he stumbled on a man raping a woman and was too late to stop him, she was dead, and that other time he didn't bother to try, because he had so much blood on him and was weary and bruised to the bone with nothing but hatred and disgust and darkness in his heart, nor when he discovered the bodies of two tiny children hidden under their beds, suffocated by smoke... _

_Sometimes the war vanishes and other memories, ancient faces come to pay him a visit long overdue: his mother (with the rope around her neck), his sister (with the bruises on her cheek), his father (and the loathing in his eyes)..._

_Everytime, there are things lurking in the shadows, reading to pounce, ready to tear his flesh apart, to feed on his blood, hideous, fiendish creatures with no-name no-face no-reality, but they are all too real for him, and he draws his dagger, ready to defend himself, ready to attack, because he can never just let it happen, even in dreams, and he throws himself forward..._

_...and stops just as the blade grazes her throat._

_He blinks._

_There is a woman on his bed (Regina, the queen, he knows instantly without knowing why), and she doesn't move, doesn't even bat an eye, just keep staring steadily at him, those dark orbs of hers huge and bright in the moonlight, and he's panting, wretched sounds coming from his mouth, his whole body shaking and sweating and heaving, and he knows he's awake, finally, but he doesn't put down his knife, and finally she smirks in that dissmissive manner he's been accustomed to and drawls in a dangerous voice:_

"_You should be more careful with sharp objects, thief, you might actually hurt someone one day."_

"_I've killed two men this morning."_

_It comes out unprepared, he hadn't meant to say it, even less to her, but as soon as the words are out he feels a little lighter, just a little saner, finally voicing what has been gnawing at him all day._

_She raises an eyebrow and tilts her head, giving him a curious look._

"_Not your full body count, I presume. Is that the reason why you've been making all that rumpus for the past five minutes? It's a wonder you didn't wake the whole damn castle."_

_His breathing is steadying, it comes out easier now, and he finally lowers his knife, wincing when he sees the very light and shallow scratch the blade has left on her flawless skin, but she doesn't seem to mind, her fingers only brush dreamingly hover the little cut, an absent-minded gesture, and she's still smiling strangely. _

_His voice is rough and dry when he snaps:_

"_If you don't want to be bothered by the sounds of other people's suffering, milady, perhaps you should stay in your own room. You sure cannot hear anything from _there. _What are you even doing amongst the common stock?"_

_She clenches her jaw and anger and bitterness burn in her eyes like acid. _

"_This is _my _castle and I'll go wherever I want and I certainly don't have to explain myself to an aggravating lowlife such as yourself, thief."_

_He bows his head in a show of the most contemptuous courtesy he can provides._

"_Then I suggest you leave this lowlife to his memories, your Majesty, and go on with your night."_

"_Memories?" _

"_I meant dreams."_

_She's studying him too closely, scrutinizing, her eyes flickering in the dark, he feels she is seeing right into him, through all his failures and flaws and inner scars, he's utterly naked and defenceless under her gaze (and truth be told he doesn't wear many clothes to begin with, only breeches) and it's unbearable, he puts his hand on her shoulder and means to push her away, but her warmth is an immediate comfort, and he finds himself only mumbling pitifully: "Please, go away," and he could have his hand cut for daring to touch a queen, but she doesn't shrug him off, she doesn't leave either, she puts one hand over his and the other brushes againt his bicep._

"_Nasty wound you've got there. Why haven't you seen a healer? Is the hero complex never old with good people?"_

_He's torn between exasperation and gratefulness, all the while finding the whole scene surreal, the Evil (a title he has never given her) Queen (a title he gives her mockingly) comforting him at his bedside after a nightmare with offensive words and biting persiflage._

"_You're bloody unbelievable, you know that? Shall I remind you how many days you've been dragging that wound you got from Zelena's beast, determined to heal it yourself?"_

"_Enchanted flying monkey don't mix well with magic. But this is child's play for me. Now hold still or I'll make you."_

"_How could I ever resist to help so sweetly offered?"_

_He winces as his flesh starts to prickle and itch and a light purplish glow is swathing is arm, then a nurturing warmth spreads in his tired limb, his muscle is throbbing under her hand, and the loss is acute when she pulls away. _

_He catches her at the last moment, before she can fully retreat, and places her hand above his heart, a gesture of respect and gratitude, and also for some reason, having her close, having her touching him grounds him, clears his heart if not his head, because her presence is always overwhelming, has been from the beginning, and her body is the most wonderful addiction he has ever ached for. _

_It's a miracle that she doesn't refuse him, but rather runs her nails softly against the taut skin of his chest, and he gives a violent shiver, the sensation both soothing and deeply erotic. It's not the first time they have found themselves in such compromising situation, but it's the first time it seems plausible and real that it could go further. And it feels reckless and strange and so terribly exciting, he doesn't know whether she is going to kill him or fuck him, and what she's doing, it's a bit of both, there's dread in him everytime she teases the muscles above his heart, and gut-wrenching desire each time she goes a little to low. _

_He releases her hand and shoulder, his arms falling to his sides, and he lets her roam over his torso, hands stroking and probing, discovering, it awakens every nerve, every sensible point in his body and his cock starts to throb and harden, but he does his best to ignore it, as her purpose doesn't seem to be set towards it tonight. _

_She stops her ministrations after her fingers have mapped out several scars. _

"_War wounds?"_

_Her voice is a purr, softer than he has ever heard, and it sends another jolt of fire between his legs._

"_You too," he replies, pointing at the lip scar that has been taunting him for days, compelling him to gaze at her mouth and making him ache to lick it._

_She shrugs, eyes shifty. "Not the same war."_

"_All wars are alike. Whether you fight them on the battlefield or in the household."_

_She looks up at him briskly, a shadow of fear on her face, and in a bold move he cups her cheek and runs his thumb over the old wound._

"_Alike?" she croaks, a tremor in her voice._

_He nods._

"_Unfair."_

_Perhaps it is too much for her, this unexpected intimacy, this corrosive closeness, because she suddenly backs away and stands up from the bed, leaving him with a cooling skin and an icing heart. He notices only now what she is wearing, and she has never been so underdressed in front of him, nothing but a thin, flimsy, carmine nightgown with see-through sleeves. Her hair is an endless wave of darkness, reaching to her hip, on which one of her hand is resting._

"_I can't be here. You should be resting. You've had, after all, quite an exhausting day."_

_She makes a move to leave, and he must be losing his mind, because he's up and standing in front of her before he has had the time to take a breath, he's standing in front of her and has a had on each arm – he dares so much to touch her, how comes he is not afraid, how comes the magical barrier she surrounds herself with (I'm a Queen, I'm a Witch, I'm Evil, I'm Untouchable) is nothing to him but a translucent gauze of childish rejection he can tear up with a look. _

_He sees her teeth gleam as she threatens with a snarl:_

"_What do you think you're doing?"_

_He releases her at once, but he is still so impossibly close to her their noses are almost touching, his warmth is her warmth, and yet she doesn't take a step back, doesn't push him away, but stares him down as if she's about to rip his throat with her nails and not devour his mouth in a searing kiss, but the closeness of their bodies tells otherwise. He gives a light touch to the curly ends of her hair tickling his bare waist and doesn't look at her when he gives a quiet:_

"_Don't go."_

_She tilts her head, and the nefarious look is gone._

"_You _are_ having a rough night, aren't you?"_

_He doesn't answer that – he doesn't need to – but he questions again, fingertips grazing at his freshly healed wound._

"_Why did you heal me?"_

_She is unreadable to him now. Maybe it's exhaustion, maybe it's obscurity, maybe it's the new way in which she looks both so soft and so dangerous and he struggles to reconcile all the pieces of the puzzle together, but he cannot figure her out tonight, he doesn't know what she wants._

_And it might be because she doesn't want anything that has to do with herself. _

_Her hands glide on his chest again, and he fights hard to repress the urge to shudder and sigh. Mesmerized, his eyes doesn't leave hers as she circles his neck, scratches his nape, and finally tangles her fingers in dirty-blond hair that hasn't been cut for a long time. _

_Her smiles is as remote and cryptic as the floating moon as she croons over his lips:_

"_Probably for the same reason I'm about to do this."_

_And after days of torture and daydreaming, she finally kisses him. _

_It's better than he could have ever imagined._

_She is full and hot and supple and greedy – he expects dominance and clashing teeth and vicious bites, and he's surprised at her gentleness, at how willingly she opens her mouth, how readily her tongue slithers against his, but never forceful, never dueling, it's not a fight, as he has always thought it would be – it's a gift. _

_He wraps his arms around her and he can feel her skin through the sinfully thin material of her nightgown, and the peaks of her breasts, and her hands are massaging his scalp vigorously, and he can't help himself, his hips start bucking into hers and she lets it, the kiss is endless, they barely give each other time to catch their breath, it's not a battle but it's a fight for life, it's the call of wildness and he wants more, always more, he's not sure how he's going to be able to stop, yet he has to stop, but..._

_He feels something pouring into him, a strange force coming from her and being breathed into his mouth, and the taste is intoxicating, so heady his heart starts to swim, he can't open his eyes anymore, his body is heavy, terribly heavy, his heartbeat tantalizingly slow, he recognizes the spell too late, and he feels himself going deeper and deeper, he hears a husky voice breathing in his ear "goodnight" and then everything topples over and he no longer thinks._

_._

_When he wakes up the next morning, there is a string of odd-looking coral rocks resting on his bedside table and a note pushed under them._

"_Those are enchanted Sunstones. They are used to keep the nightmares at bay. Roll them seven times in your hand before you go to sleep and then puts them under your pillow. It should assure you a troublesome sleep._

_They've never worked for me, but I am not an easily suggestible nature. They're yours now._

_Don't disturb my sleep with your screams again, thief."_

.

.

.

It's doomed.

The ambulance never arrives.

They keep working together, Emma and him, but he can tell she is tired, her shoulders are sagging in defeat, and she doesn't dare to glimpse at Henry's tense face, his eyes bulging like he's physically fighting too, holding his breath so his mother can have it, can take his own, it's a ridiculous thing to do, a reflex he's not even conscious of, and it makes Robin's heart ache in new ways, and it could be funny because you always think you reach a point when you can't possibly hurt more, and that when you witness your beloved dying, you believe that's it, you're there, you can go any lower, hurt any deeper, until you watch her son realizing his mother won't ever smile at him again, and you understand the wound can always bleed more.

Finally, Emma stops. She heaves out a furious and exhausted sob, wipes her eyes angrily, and turns to Henry with a choked : "I'm sorry", and he shoves at her again and again and she keeps her arms open until he falls into her embrace, exhausted, a hopeless boy needing at least one mother's hug. Snow is bending her head in shame and grief, biting her fingers to keep herself from keening loudly, and Elsa is awkwardly patting her back, tears streaming down her regal face, and they're giving up, you can't fight the inevitable forever, and he's tempted for a second, tempted to lay down his arms along theirs and join them for the tears, but one look at her face, at the dry blood and her lips and chin, at her horribly closed eyes, and he knows he can't do that, can never do that.

He picks up the pace, compressing, breathing in, compressing, breathing in, he tries coddling and yelling and pleading and ordering, and shaking, shaking, until someone means to hold him back, a man, he doesn't even see whom, he struggles, gives in to his anger and punches him (and then he sees him, it's Little John, apparently he hasn't punched him hard enough the first time the man had unchained him from that tree so they could fight, he has followed him right here).

Little John doesn't try to stop him anymore after that and neither does any of them, so Robin goes right back to her, takes her in his arms, lands a rain of rushed kisses on her brow, cheeks, lips, pleads with a thick voice: "come back, don't be dead, come back, I beg of you, come back, I need you," and he's rocking her gently, back and forth, his hands stroking her hair, caressing her neck, "I love you," and then she gasps –

She gives a loud cry and she's breathing again, _she's breathing_, her eyes are fluttering open, glassy and bloodshot and scared, and she doesn't give him the time to smile, she grabs his throat, a deadly grip, and starts squeezing, her nails digging, she is mad-eyed, wild-eyed, but he gently closes his hand over her wrist, he's choking yet he's able to speak, "Regina," he says, "Regina," and her hand opens, falls, but he catches it in his own, brings it above his heart, he lowers her battered body to the ground, as delicately as he would Roland when he puts him to bed, and he keeps saying her name, Regina, Regina, and Henry is laughing and sniffling and chuffing, rushing to Regina's side and clutching at the first part of her he reaches – her right arm – Robin is cradling her head in his palms, "it's all right my love, everything is all right now, you're safe," she blinks and he thinks he sees the hint of a smile, a blossoming hope, and then she closes her eyes again, for just a gentle sleep this time, her pulse is strong and quick, her breath steady, she's alive, she's alive.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

_**See? I'm not so mean. For those who are wondering, it will be explained how Robin has managed to break the curse on himself before Emma broke it. **_

_**Don't forget to leave a review! You do know it has become my own special addiction.**_


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